


re: Stacks

by flamboyantgentleman



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chapter Fic, Chuck Lives, M/M, angsty mcangst, dom raleigh, obnoxious sons of anarchy reference, post-pitfall au, sub chuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamboyantgentleman/pseuds/flamboyantgentleman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck never asked to be saved, and Raleigh never asked to give a damn.</p><p>In which Chuck struggles to really live again alongside the only other man who’s ever shouldered his same burden. Post-Pitfall AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  _This my excavation and today is Qumran,_   
>  _Everything that happens is from now on_   
>  _This is pouring rain,_   
>  _This is paralyzed._
> 
> -re: Stacks, Bon Iver  
> 

Raleigh Becket has lived his life in snapshots.

He remembers things in blood red and sea green and kaiju blue, the whirling incandescence of a few rare moments, suspended:

K-Day, the panicked squabble of San Francisco reporters bleeding through the television speakers.

His first mission off the coast of Anchorage, the snarl of Yamarashi’s teeth and the color of its insides staining Gipsy’s hulk.

Knifehead; the raw newborn scream of a brother torn from his mind throbbing like an exposed nerve.

The sharp, fluorescent hospital lights, the slow burn of radiation in his veins, the promise to never return.

Swaying, high up on the wall, ears ringing and mind empty and lungs burning from the altitude – and nothing but the dark sea, for miles.

Marshal Pentecost, five years of wear on his skin, speaking the only words that could ever put Raleigh back in a Jaeger.

And then there’s the first moment he meets Chuck Hansen, smarmy and broad-shouldered and cocky in a way that he and Yance had only ever _dreamed_ of being. Every word out of Chuck’s mouth is a fight to prove something, a scared boy lurking behind the metallic brawn of a Jaeger, and Raleigh can _feel_ the pain behind those stormy eyes.

He knows that pain. That pain traced the path of Jaeger-armor up his side in pink, puckered scars, flickered the frenzied sparks of a bruised cockpit behind his eyelids for years.

And as soon as the observation comes, it fades. He loses Chuck for a while, caught in the silver of Gipsy’s gears and the blue-black of Mako’s hair and the faded yellow of old, glory-day polaroids.

And then, all at once, another snapshot:

His knuckles scraping raw against Chuck’s jaw, the predatory glint in those hungry Australian eyes as he lunges.

It _ignites_ something in him, like all of those taut-wired snapshots do, and every block and counter-hit, every _touch_ is a fight to drag that screaming, scared little boy out of the fractured hull built from every word Chuck has ever hid behind.

He is not proud, afterwards, seeing the bruises smear across Chuck’s skin – but he doesn’t regret it either, the way Pentecost wishes he did. He thinks, thumbing a picture of him and Yancy tucked under his pillow that night, that he knows why he did it.

He can see Chuck _burning,_ dancing like a hungry flame through life, scorching everyone in his path. Chuck wants a snapshot moment, wants some grandiose brand of unfettered redemption stamped into his skin. He’s exactly the way Raleigh read him days ago, always chasing proof that he’s every bit the Jaeger superstar the world needs him to be. He either wants to come back a hero, or not to come back at all.

To Chuck, Raleigh’s nothing but an obstacle on his path (and the thought makes his lips twist into a disdainful grimace)—the path towards victory, towards destruction; Raleigh gets the impression that Chuck’s almost too threadbare to _care_ which anymore. That first, split-knuckled punch, it was Raleigh’s way of trying to get Chuck to see what he’s been missing in his blind ambition. The Jaeger, the drift, all of it—every snapshot—they’re just temporary, fleeting. The assurance and strength that comes from riding high fades, and you’re left just chasing ghosts. It’s no way to fight the inevitable sinking, gut-twisting pain, no way to stave off the anxious, worthless weight that comes with carrying the world on your shoulders. And that punch, for all the words Raleigh knew he couldn’t say—it barely _dented_ the surface of the walls Chuck has spent building around himself. Raleigh thinks he could probably punch Chuck until his knuckles are raw and red if it means pushing his point home, but he knows in his gut that he won’t get that chance.

He’s angry, maybe, watching somebody just begging to make the same mistakes he did. He’s angry that Chuck is blind, and greedy, and foolish, and – why should he care if this broken boy wants to wreck himself beyond all belief? He should let Chuck sate himself on emotion until it cripples him, leaves him as numb as Raleigh ever was. He should be content to let the bastard burn, but…he isn’t, somehow. _Why?_

He doesn’t get the chance to puzzle out an answer to that question.  
Tension mounts fast in the Shatterdome and the attacks seem to escalate almost overnight, the countdown clock a constant din in the back of everyone’s mind. Raleigh gets jostled forward at a speed that would leave him floored, if it weren’t for the adrenaline searing his veins and pushing him to be _harder, stronger_. Better than he was before.

It’s not long before he’s there, in the background, watching Chuck brace for the inevitability of death with a grace that surprises him. Scared boy that he is, Raleigh can’t deny that there’s something about his conviction, something about how every smarmy word falls away and leaves someone who’s willing to _die_ for what he believes in.

And Raleigh, Raleigh believes in Chuck. It’s the last thing he can do for this boy, this man who’s bartering his life away in one final act of human defiance. Raleigh watches him draw that last, ragged breath, sees him meet his father’s gaze with those glassy, knowing eyes, and he _believes._

-

It isn’t until after he’s back in the Shatterdome med bay, the taste of saltwater and blood still fresh on his lips, that he receives the news.

_A third pod,_ they say. _Critical condition._

The doctors speak in clipped, neutral phrases, and their clarity gets muddled in Raleigh’s mind. The words are like a stone skimming the surface of his thoughts, rippling out in slow circles.

From the little glass window of his room he can see commotion, and then, half-obscured by the slew of medical staff, a hand – red and mottled and charred in ways that make Raleigh’s stomach turn, and the stone finally sinks.

-

Raleigh goes through the motions—physical therapy, _emotional_ therapy, endless tests and re-tests—and it’s a painful echo of the way things were after Knifehead.

Except this time, he stays.

They put him through the press wringer, steady streams of _photograph, please, when are you doing interviews, are you planning on heading the oceanic detoxification effort, are the rumors about you and Miss Mori true_ until Herc ( _Marshall Hansen_ , Raleigh has to correct himself) puts his foot down and insists that his rangers get some “bloody R & R”.

Herc is holding up surprisingly well, Raleigh thinks, or maybe not so surprisingly—those damn Hansens are an infallible breed. He’s quieter, a little gruffer around the edges, and Raleigh pretends not to notice how often Herc comes and goes (towards Chuck’s room, always) from his view through the little glass window.

He’s out after a week and then the press heat is really strong, and it’s only then that he realizes what unabashed public sensations he and Mako seem to be. Herc has to pull him into his office, ask him in a low voice if he could just keep quiet until they can get conservation and rebuilding efforts properly organized, and he doesn’t have to be told twice.

Raleigh’s been more of an introvert anyway, since Yance died, and it’s easy to just shut himself away and wait.

What he’s waiting for, he doesn’t know. There’s a twinge of survivor’s guilt, at the back of his mind, and a huge sense of belonging—of being needed—that died with the kaiju. It’s a damned relief, waking in the morning without that weight constricting his chest, without being on call every second of every day, but… as a Fox News Headline claimed rather emphatically (and he always tries not to read them, knows it’s just scraping to rile him up, but sometimes he can’t help himself), his kind isn’t needed anymore.

It’s the first thing that comes to his mind, when they tell him that Chuck is awake. _He won’t want to live. The PPDC is all he’s ever known, what does he have left to live for?_ The thought blisters, and he feels a deep spark of sympathy for Chuck. It’s hard, and he knows it. He’s been there.

He avoids the hospital wing out of respect, going on the assumption that Chuck never seemed to like him much anyway, so it comes as a surprise when he receives a summons.

“Marshall Hansen wanted me to tell you that Chuck asked for you,” Mako tells him in her clipped tone, a little soft around the edges when she says Chuck’s name. Raleigh knows that she grew up around Chuck, remembers seeing brief snatches of them as kids together from the drift.

And more than anything, right now, he appreciates how unassuming she is. She doesn’t ask Raleigh what he thinks it’s about, and she doesn’t seem to indulge his surprise. All she adds is a tender, knowing look, and a quiet “good luck, Raleigh” before moving on her way.

-

Raleigh tries not to be puzzled, as he finds his way back to the stark white of the med bay. The doctors usher him in with gloved hands and spray him with some sort of disinfectant, warning him against coming into contact with Chuck. “Infection is our biggest concern, right now,” one of the nurses tells him severely. “We’re still waiting for the skin grafts to take, and we’d like them to have as little resistance as possible.”

Raleigh assures them that he won’t be there long, that resisting contact won’t be much of a problem. But there’s questions, in the back of his head, a quiet buzz of anticipation that doesn’t stop until they draw back the curtain to Chuck’s hospital bed.

To Raleigh’s credit, he doesn’t wince. Doesn’t even stare at Chuck a moment too long, doesn’t feed the morbid curiosity that bubbles up when he sees the scars and burns and the raw, disfigured graft along his jaw. He’s quiet for a beat, watching Chuck’s expression set into practiced indifference, before he has to chastise himself for thinking that the Australian would want the first word.

And then Chuck coughs, a quiet, ragged affair, and Raleigh feels his throat constrict because he _knows_ how much that hurts. He remembers the way his mouth felt afterwards, sandpaper dry and aching with the pulse of radiation for days. “Get them to give you milk,” he supplies, after he stamps down the memories. “They try and put you on those throat lozenges, but the only think that really helps the burn is a glass of milk.” 

“Don’t think they’ll be giving me anything other than a bloody IV anytime soon,” Chuck rasps, pausing a beat before adding, “but I’ll remember that.”  
Raleigh nods, rubs his hands together and pitches his elbows on his knees as he sits. He waits, hoping Chuck will breach the silence before he has to, but when the Aussie’s gaze drifts back to the walls he knows he’s going to have to work for it.

“You said you wanted to see me.”

It earns him a gruff “yeah, said that,” more of a grunt than anything, and this time Raleigh doesn’t skip a beat.

“Guessing you wanted to get it one last ‘screw you’ before some press junkie kidnaps me?”

Chuck’s mouth falters into a tight-lipped line, and Raleigh thinks at first that he’s taken the wrong approach.

“Wouldn’t bother, mate,” he says finally, lifting some of the worry from Raleigh’s brow. “Seems to me like you already know I don’t fancy you ‘s much as those bloody tabloids.”

Raleigh flashes a half-smile at that, feeling the familiar rapid fire of Chuck’s wit prickle in his words. “Yeah,” he says, “you sure don’t make a secret out of it.” He lets that settle between them for a moment, gathers up the words as he watches Chuck shift beneath the bandages. “So why did you want to see me?”

Chuck is silent for a long, slow, dragging pause, and Raleigh waits, half expecting a firestorm to twist past the younger ranger’s lips.

“How’d you do it,” he says finally, and it’s less of a question and more of a flat, blank exhale.

“What?” Raleigh asks, because this is just about the last thing he was expecting.

“Feel like a fucking slab of meat sitting here all day, while they poke ‘n prod at me. No more Jaegers, no more fighting. All I want is to get out of this bloody hospital so I can die in peace.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“I know,” Chuck says morosely, and he doesn’t sound happy about it. “After Knifehead, how’d you…” He drifts off, and Raleigh can tell that it’s hard for him to ask for _anything_.

“How’d I keep on going?” he supplies.

Chuck just nods, wincing as the tender muscles in his neck flare.

“I didn’t,” Raleigh says simply. “Not for a while, anyway. After Yance died, after I lost the will to pilot…” He shrugs, tapering off for a moment. “Didn’t really feel like there was anything worth sticking around for.”

He can tell he’s hitting home with the way his words seem to twist in Chuck’s gut, and the Australian makes a face. “Get on with it,” he says, and Raleigh knows it’s all the encouragement he’ll get.

He tries to find the words he’s looking for, fails, exhales a quiet sigh. “Look, Chuck, maybe I’m not the best guy to talk to about this. I didn’t exactly have the most spectacular recovery—”

“Then why’re you still here, _Becket?_ ” Chuck asks, and Raleigh can feel the heat rising in his voice.

“Because you _asked_ me to. I’m just, hell, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

“Then I don’t need your help.”

Raleigh doesn’t move, jaw setting in a hard, firm line, and he thinks that maybe if he lets the silence slip over him he can rein in that damn temper.

Big mistake.

“Why’re you still here, _Raw-leigh_?” Chuck drawls again, spitting his name like venom. “You want to help, yeah? Why’s that? Is it because you pity me? D’you feel better about yourself after lookin’ at me?”

Raleigh’s always harbored a quiet sort of anger, usually preferring actions to words. But he isn’t about to get physical with Chuck right now, and he finds the words prickling hot on his tongue anyway. “You want me to treat you like an equal, huh?” He asks, and Chuck has to _know_ that Raleigh’s the last person who’d look down on him for the condition he’s in. “Fine. I don’t pity you. I don’t feel sorry for you. But that also means I don’t have to take your misguided anger over this bullshit self-loathing attitude of yours.”

Chuck’s nostrils flare wide, and Raleigh can tell by the way his eyes narrow that he’s made him furious. “Out,” he spits. “Asking for your bloody has-been arse was a damn mistake.”

What Raleigh wants to say is _wouldn’t be the first one you’ve made_ , but something holds him back. There’s something in the way Chuck looks, so defensive and cornered and _vulnerable_ that reminds Raleigh of the way he was just five short years ago.

“I know what it’s like to be angry,” he says instead, his voice softer and more insistent. “At yourself, at everybody, thinking it shoulda been _you_. But y’know what, Hansen? It wasn’t me. Wasn’t you, either. And I had to learn to pick back up, or let my life go to waste.” He swallows, watching Chuck falter as the anger chases across his expression. “And we both know damn well that’s not what Stacker died for.”

Chuck is stunned. Raleigh can see a retort forming on his lips, but it seems to die there. The silence hangs heavy, suspended between them, before Chuck finally says in a defeated voice, “I never asked him to let me live.”

“I know.”

Chuck knows Raleigh won’t coddle him, won’t walk around the open wounds and expect him to believe that everything’s going to be okay. Maybe, Raleigh thinks, that’s exactly why he asked for him. He watches as Chuck closes his eyes, watches the words sink deeper into that slow, roiling pool of remorse.

“What I meant to say earlier was,” he continues, knowing _something_ ’s got to pull Chuck back to the present, “I can’t tell you what’s worth living for. That’s something you’ve got to figure out for yourself.”

Chuck’s looking at him again, the anger faded from his blue eyes. “You about done with the philosophical bullshit, Becket?” He says, and it’s not as menacing as it could be.

Raleigh smiles knowingly, letting a bit of that old cockiness slip into his posture. “Beats staring at the wall all day.”

Chuck grunts at that, because he _knows_ Raleigh’s right. “Yeah. Guess it does.”

It’s a small victory for Raleigh, and after they’ve traded a few more remarks the nurse comes to dismiss him with a shrewd, tight-lipped smile.

“Stick up her bum,” Raleigh thinks he can hear Chuck say, and he leaves with a chuckle bubbling to his lips. He thinks, walking down the hallway back towards his quarters, that this is the Chuck no amount of punching or kicking would’ve ever shown him. _This_ is the man who knows what it’s like to swallow his pride, and he allows himself a moment to marvel at how remarkably decent their encounter ended up going.

No punches, for one.

Chuck still hates him, he’s pretty sure, and that biting sarcasm leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but Raleigh knows the score. They can’t afford to have enemies anymore, not when they’re all that’s left to remind the world how much it sacrificed.

And kid’s still got a long way to go, _miles_ , really—with the treatment and the slow, painful healing and the generally abrasive persona that seems to linger... but, Raleigh thinks, this wouldn’t be the first time he’s staked against the odds to believe in Chuck Hansen, and he has a feeling it won’t be the last.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the line, he stopped trying to find a reason to live and just let himself fall back into the rhythm of things. And slowly, _slowly_ , those reasons started to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _I keep throwing it down two hundred at a time_   
>  _It's hard to find it when you knew it_   
>  _When your money's gone,_   
>  _And you're drunk as hell_
> 
> -re: Stacks, Bon Iver  
> 

The next time Raleigh visits Chuck, it’s of his own accord.

He’s feeling restless, cooped up in his metal bunk, and his mind keeps drifting back to their conversation. Chuck probably doesn’t know, bruised and prideful as he might be, but he wasn’t the only one to benefit from their brief interaction. Raleigh doesn’t talk about The Incident much, rarely ever brings up what life was like after Yance and the PPDC, and he never realized how _heavy_ the silence could be. There’s something about how _he_ was the one Chuck thought of, in his fog of grief, the person who’d faced the same odds and come out in one piece (more or less). It makes him feel…whole. Healed.

He didn’t have the answer Chuck was looking for, and he knows he never will. There’s no going back, no _getting over_ the way it feels to wake up in the morning knowing that you should be dead – but it’s that realization that begins to piece him back together. Somewhere along the line, he stopped trying to find a reason to live and just let himself fall back into the rhythm of things. And slowly, _slowly_ , those reasons started to find him.

Lying in his bunk, he remembers a lot of things he’d pushed back to the corners of his mind. He remembers what it was like, those first few weeks after Knifehead, recalls that it was really just the small things that kept him together.

It was the small things that’d always been the ones worth pushing for, and he thinks he might as well pass that knowledge onto Chuck.

 _Out of boredom_ , he tells himself, _and maybe a little sympathy._

So he jumps the gun, fishes a few old Blu-Rays out of his small chest of personal belongings, and asks Mako twice before he can get the med bay’s visiting hours right ( _I am surprised you don’t know this information from experience, Raleigh. Would you like me to write it down for you?_ ).

Chuck’s moved to a more open room, no more bleak curtains, but the nurse still apprehends him with a testing look and says “no touching”. Raleigh puzzles briefly whether she thinks he’s contemplating punching Chuck or…something else.

His foot’s in the door, stack of Blu-Rays under his arm, before he realizes his mistake.

Chuck looks at him, and there’s only a moment of surprise there before his features draw back to that trademark scowl. “Oi, you again?” he says, and his voice sounds just a touch less raspy. “What, couldn’t get enough jabs at me last time?”

Raleigh just shuffles the Blu-Rays behind his sweater, hoping he can salvage his dignity.

But Chuck sees them, has to narrow his eyes before he recognizes what they are – and lets out a low, condescending laugh.

_There’s no goddamn television._

“You really didn’t think that through mate, did you?”

“I was planning on putting them up on the walls so you’d have somethin’ else to look at.”

Chuck snorts at that, and Raleigh takes a moment to chastise himself for his impulsiveness. “That’s real ace of you, but I’m more of a book man myself.”

Raleigh surrenders, moving into the room and setting the Blu-Rays down on the bedside table before sinking into the nearest armchair. “Nothing a few good movies can’t blow out of the water,” he says, tapping the cases absently.

“Yeah, ‘m sure Hemingway has nothing on timeless classics like _The Terminator_.”

 _Hemingwa_ y, Raleigh thinks. He never read much outside of school, but he knows his way around a few of Hemingway’s works. Forceful, concise, and more than a little cynical. It suits Chuck, he decides.

“Say what you want, but some days there’s just nothing like a mindless action sequence to keep you entertained.”

Chuck smirks patronizingly, and Raleigh can see him eyeing the discs. His left arm’s still in a sling, and his right doesn’t look like it could be much use either.

“Brought a bunch of stuff,” he supplies. “Didn’t know what you liked.” _Don’t know much of anything about you, really_.

“You must be really bloody bored, wanting to come spend your time with a gimp,” Chuck says. He pauses, follows up with “why’d you come, anyway?”

Raleigh doesn’t answer, thumbing absently at a hole in his sweater and drinking in the changes since the last time he’s seen Chuck. The graft on his jaw seems to have taken, puckered just a shade pinker than the rest of his skin, and most of the burns seem to be starting to heal up.

“You look good,” he says instead, amending it with “healthier” as a quick afterthought.

“Yeah, ‘m a real beaut,” Chuck retorts, and there’s the telltale hesitance of uncertainty behind his words.

Raleigh thinks he must look like an idiot, strolling into Chuck’s hospital room with a stack of useless Blu-Rays and a few smarmy words. He can tell Chuck wants to know _why_ , what he _wants_ out of coming here.

He doesn’t really know, either. Maybe it’s his way of trying to be a good Samaritan.

Somehow, though, he doubts it’s that simple.

“Really though, think there’s a few in here you might like.” He picks up the discs and sets them in his lap, thumbing through them briefly before he finds the one he’s looking for. “Here,” he says, flashing the cover at Chuck (god forbid the traitorous case _infect_ him with something if he touches it).

“Sons of Anarchy,” Chuck reads in an unimpressed voice, studying the text briefly.

“It’s a show,” Raleigh says. “A good show. Should last you long enough.”

“What,” Chuck asks, “you’re not going to keep me company while I have to suffer through it?”

Raleigh thinks that’s just about as much of an invitation as any. He taps the case against his knee for a moment, thinking. “Y’know what, I’m gonna go to the front desk. Bet they can get a TV wheeled in here in no time.”

‘No time’ turns into an hour of brute labor, hauling a TV from an entirely separate ward and then looking around in search of a proper table to place it on. But he gets the job done, and it’s a _nice_ TV, one of the big flat-screen ones that they haven’t been making much of since K-Day.

Chuck feigns annoyance, but Raleigh _knows_ what it’s like to sit cooped up in a hospital wing with nothing but your thoughts for company. Besides, it’s been a long time since he actually sat down and watched anything. Being a ranger was always fairly time-consuming, and he’d be willing to bet that Chuck hasn’t had much free time on his hands either.

“Might as well ask before you shove the bloody thing down my throat,” Chuck says as Raleigh guides the disc into the Blu-Ray player. “What’s it even about?”

Raleigh surveys the case briefly, tracing the outline of a dent Yancy had left in the spine the last time they’d watched it together.

“You like motorcycles?” he asks.

Turns out Chuck _does_ like motorcycles, and he knows a good bit more about them than Raleigh ever did. “S’not how you park one,” he points out, halfway into the first episode. “Can’t even get parking right. This show is shite, mate.”

For all his mouthing off, he actually seems to enjoy it, and Raleigh’s surprised at how quickly he’s pressing pause before the second episode starts. “You don’t have to admit you like it,” he says off-handedly, “but don’t expect me to believe you’d sit through it if you hated it.”

Chuck just half-shrugs, and Raleigh can tell from the way he winces that the tendons in his shoulder still haven’t fully recuperated. “It’s alright,” he concedes.

Raleigh can’t help but look smug at that, and Chuck shoots him a scowl. “Would be better if the main bloke didn’t look a bit like you.”

Raleigh looks down at the case, and then back up at Chuck. “What, this guy?” he says, tapping the image of the character emblazoned across the cover.

“No, arsehole, the other twenty-something blonde male lead.”

Raleigh studies the cover again briefly, long enough for Chuck’s scowl to deepen. “What?” he asks. “He’s good looking, for an American.”

Now it’s Raleigh’s turn to study _Chuck_ , incredulous and a little more than surprised at the offhanded compliment. He surveys him for a beat, half-waiting for some sort of cruel punch line, but Chuck supplies nothing.

“Yeah, guess he is,” Raleigh agrees finally.

They watch three episodes like that, silent except for the occasional snarky comment from Chuck’s end, before the doctor slips in to administer a quick blood test.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, boys,” she says, a slight hint of Chinese to her accent.

“It’s alright,” Raleigh says, standing and stretching his arms briefly. “Think that’s probably my cue to leave, anyway.”

He looks at Chuck, who seems indifferent to the statement. “Want me to ask them to leave the TV in here?”

“Might as well,” Chuck says. “Have to find out what happens eventually.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Raleigh says, and it just feels so _easy_ to shoot Chuck that cocky half-smile he hasn’t used in a long time.

“S’better than staring at walls, is all I’m saying,” Chuck says firmly. “You still have shit taste.” But he fixes Raleigh with another look, nodding his head in a brief gesture of appreciation.

It’s more thanks than Raleigh was expecting, and he nods back before leaving the doctor to her duties.

This is the second time he’s exiting the hospital wing a little perplexed, and he wonders if Chuck is going to make a habit of being civil. He actually enjoyed himself, and he’s got a smug feeling that Chuck did too. It’s not something he’d normally spend his time on—hell, the smarmy Australian prick probably still has it out for him—but there’s not much left in the way of good company to keep him occupied while he waits for Herc to find some new use for him.

He wonders if _acquaintances_ is pushing it. Certainly not friends. _At least_ , he muses, feeling a little foolish at the thought, _not yet_.

-

Raleigh dreams about Chuck, that night, cocooned inside a metal hull while millions of pounds of ocean water press down on Striker’s broad shoulders.

He can feel the shift of the cockpit, the pull of the drift, and it’s like he’s the one trapped beneath the water.

In his dream, Chuck— _he_ —doesn’t live.

He wakes in a cold sweat, and the scars striping the right side of his body ache with fierce insistence as he shifts to catch his breath.

-

The next time he visits Chuck, the atmosphere is heavy.

He can feel it right away, from the press of gloom etched into Chuck’s face to the wilting flowers on the nightstand.

He hovers in the doorway for a moment, wondering if he ought to ask, and then thinks better of it.

Chuck doesn’t speak as Raleigh slips into the chair facing the bed, and he doesn’t expect him to. They sit like that for a while, Chuck with his jaw set so hard it almost looks painful and Raleigh with his hands clasped in testament to the solemn silence.

Finally, Chuck speaks: “Told me I lost a few tendons in my right leg,” he says, and his voice is a blank, steel slate. “Might be a while before I walk again.”

Raleigh opens his mouth automatically to offer his condolences, but Chuck just continues.

“Sounds like one of those bloody medical soaps, doesn’t it? The fuckin’ hero in the wheelchair. I’ll make some miraculous recovery, become a goddamn fucking Olympic runner before the year is out.”

He punctuates those last words forcefully, a veil of spite behind his voice, before he speaks again. “Never liked running, anyway,” he says, and Raleigh thinks he almost sounds small.

But Chuck isn’t small. Chuck is larger than life, tendons or no, and he’s speechless at the way someone so _cocky_ can be stripped so bare.

“You could always beat people up with your crutches,” he offers, giving Chuck an apologetic smile. “Look…I know it’s no consolation, but the docs here always give the most pessimistic prediction.”

He doesn’t mean to give him false _hope_ , exactly, but he knows Chuck has the determination to work through an injury plenty faster than the med bay’s average patient.

“With dad’s collarbone, there’ll be nobody to take Max for walks. Damn dog’s going to be pissed as all hell when I get out of here.”

“I’ll do it,” Raleigh says, before he can even consider what he’s agreeing to. Hell, he likes dogs. Max was always nicer to him than Chuck, anyway.

“Good,” Chuck grunts. “Somebody’s gotta protect Striker’s mascot, yeah? Lil bastard needs a good walking every day.”

“Yeah,” Raleigh says, drumming a hand on his knee. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Chuck purses his lips, looks Raleigh up and down like he’s trying to decide whether or not to trust him with his beloved dog. “Alright.”

They settle back into silence, and even with the levity Raleigh can still tell that the news is weighing heavy on Chuck’s shoulders.

“Look,” he says, and he doesn’t know exactly where he’s going with it, “you’ll…get through this. And Max’ll be there waiting when you do.”

Chuck doesn’t look at him, this time. “Don’t need you to tell me that.”

Raleigh swallows, gathers his thoughts briefly. “What I’m trying to say,” he concedes, fingers brushing Chuck’s as he grips the edge of the bed loosely, “is that you’re already standing taller than you were before you walked into that cockpit.”

Chuck and regards him for a solid second, and his stare is _electric_.

“Didn’t know you were a poet, Becket,” he says finally, and there’s a hesitancy behind his voice that Raleigh can’t quite place.

A moment later, Raleigh feels fingers push insistently against his own, and he shifts automatically to accommodate them. Oh. _Oh_ , he thinks, and Chuck’s hand curls loosely around his. And then, out of the blue, _so much for no touching_.

“M’ not,” he says in response, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a small smile.

Chuck gives his fingers a warning squeeze. “Don’t get cocky about it, _Raw-leigh_ ,” is all he says, and Raleigh thinks it’s the closest he’ll get to a genuine smile for now.

“M’ not,” he repeats, a touch too smugly.

After a brief debate, Raleigh manages to wrestle the Blu-Ray into the player of their makeshift setup, and nothing feels more natural than just brushing his fingers lightly against Chuck’s as he sits back down.

They don’t acknowledge it, and Raleigh tries not to dwell on what it might _mean_ , instead finding quiet sanctuary in the hum of the television.

 

It feels like no time at all before they’ve established some sort of routine, a few minutes of banter before they settle in to watch Raleigh’s selection of the day. Chuck, prideful as ever, insists Sons of Anarchy is just a “lousy biker soap”, and Raleigh pretends not to notice the way he pays rapt attention whenever he can get him to concede to it.

More often than not, the show seems to be their default. Raleigh finds respite in it, thankful for the foggy memories he has of watching the series years ago. It means he doesn’t have to be entirely invested (which is a hard enough feat for his attention span to accomplish, anyway), and sometimes he just finds himself… drifting.

There’s no other word to describe the listlessness of personal reflection, not after being in a Jaeger. It’s a neural handshake with peace of mind, a place were Raleigh can chase his R.A.B.I.T.s with no repercussions. The Shatterdome—unlike the hospital wing—is a whirl of activity, a place where he can _feel_ the pressure of expectation pushing down on him. _It’s not fair_ , he finds himself thinking sometimes. _I saved them. What else do they want from me?_

He can always hear Yancy’s voice, vivid in his head as the day he died: _Life’s not fair, kid_. There’s something about drifting with somebody for so long, some part of them that never quite leaves you. He hears people talk about how, after twenty years, they forget the sound of their mother’s voice, or their friend’s laugh – Raleigh knows that won’t ever happen to him. There’s that echo of Stacker’s words in his mind, right before Striker detonated the payload: _You can always find me in the drift._

He wonders what it would be like if Chuck had died. They never drifted—god knows, they’d be about as drift _in_ compatible as any two people could be—but there were always glimpses of him, in the drift. Memories of him as a child that aren’t Raleigh’s, things Mako remembered or even picked up from reading both Stacker and Herc’s drift outputs. Would his voice become another ghost, too?

He’s alarmed at how much that thought weighs on him. Chuck inspires something visceral in him, an incalculable impulse that he hasn’t felt since the Jaeger Program’s carefree golden days. Raleigh has never been a man of personal reflection, but even after diligent thought he can’t seem to stamp down the whirlwind that is Chuck Hansen.

The more he learns about him, the more _time_ he spends with Chuck, the less certain he is of anything. Their foundation—turbulent, competitive—seems to have slipped into something more harmless during the process of Chuck’s recovery. They still fight, and there are days where Raleigh wants to make those pretty scars _bleed_ , but… there’s silence, too. The comfortable kind, the _drifting_ kind, where Raleigh doesn’t have to ask to know what Chuck’s thinking. What Chuck needs from him.

He certainly never saw his goodwill gesture turning into this. He’s never been much of a planner, really; as a teenager he always relied on Yance to keep the level head. _What are you doing, kid?_ Yancy would always ask him, in that half-amused, half-exasperated tone of his.

It’s not the first time he wishes his brother were here, and it won’t be the last. But he can still hear that voice in his head, echoing down the white walls of the hospital wing. _What_ am _I doing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you thank you so much for reading, loves.  
>  _p.s. look up sons of anarchy if you don't get the joke wink nudge_


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s as easy as breathing, trading insults and remarks and memories. Even the silence is comfortable, the tired pauses where Raleigh yawns and stretches and confesses that he didn’t get all that much sleep. They’re always touching in some way, fingers curled together or shoulders bumping, and that feels natural, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _I've twisting to the sun I needed to replace_   
> _The fountain in the front yard is rusted out_   
> _All my love was down_   
> _In a frozen ground_
> 
> -re: Stacks, Bon Iver

When Herc calls Raleigh into his office, his kneejerk reaction is to assume it’s about Chuck. He wonders for a brief, gut-wrenching moment if Chuck is hurt, if there was some sort of complication with recovery. His quiet bout of nerves is soothed, however, when he intercepts Mako coming out of the Marshall’s office.

She greets him with a nod and a small smile, and he pauses just long enough squeeze her shoulder gently. They don’t have to say anything – the wordless comfort is a byproduct of the drift, as if there’s always a bit of headspace that they’ll share.

He thinks he could’ve loved her, had they met some other time. That is – he _does_ love her, in a way that you can’t help but love somebody whose life intersects yours at such a crucial, vivid point. But as things are, there’s too much between them, two heavy souls weighed down by so many of the same memories. Love is about working your way into somebody else’s head, whittling out a relationship with patience and persistence and the relentless press of _words_ , and the drift never gave them that chance.

If only the insatiable tabloids could understand that.

Raleigh’s never been much for relationships anyway, always too preoccupied for anything other than a quick fuck. Back when he and Yancy had been pilots together, the gossip columns insisted that the Beckets would never kiss and tell – what they’d never believe is that there wasn’t much _to_ tell in the first place.

Raleigh had always dodged questions about his sexuality out of some semblance of privacy, but he knows it’s not exactly a _secret._ He’s – well. He never seemed to have time to give it much thought.

Lately, though, he’s been giving things too _much_ thought, and it’s Marshal Hansen’s voice that finally startles him out of his musings. “Ranger Becket,” he greets in his thick, gruff accent as Raleigh stands in the doorway, Mako long since gone.

“Just Raleigh’s fine, Marshall,” Raleigh corrects, nodding in respect.

Herc smiles wearily, gesturing to the seat across from his desk. “Raleigh, good ‘t see you. Been a while.”

“They tell me you’ve been a busy man,” Raleigh says, sitting down.

Herc nods curtly, and the weariness spreads across his face. “That I have,” he grunts. “Seems ‘t come with the job.”

Raleigh murmurs in agreement, balling his hands loosely at his knees and waiting for Herc to continue.

“M’sure you’ve been wondering what comes next,” Herc says, briefly thumbing through a few papers on his desk.

Raleigh shrugs neutrally. “It’s crossed my mind.”

“Verdict’s out. The UN decided to preserve the remains of the Jaeger Program as a preliminary line of defense, in the event of a disaster.” He pauses. “I understand you have a lot of options here, ranger. You’ve done your time, and ‘m right thankful for it.”

“All due respect, sir, I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Herc nods as if he were expecting that. “We’ll see that you’re comfortable wherever you choose to go, Raleigh. But you’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you, Marshall,” Raleigh says, and then before he can stop himself, “but what about Chuck?”

Herc looks a little surprised by the question, and there’s a moment before the sharp lines of his face soften. “Boy may not act like it, but he is a bloody adult now,” he answers, and there’s a tinge of paternal warmth to his tone. “What he wants to do…that’s his decision.”

Raleigh digests the information, avoiding the question in Herc’s eyes. It’s probably better not to explain, anyway – he’s not sure he even has the words. “Got a feeling I’ll be sticking around for a while,” he says instead, and it earns him a small smile.

“Then I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon, Raleigh,” Herc responds, saluting as Raleigh stands.

Raleigh salutes back, pausing briefly in the doorway to offer Herc a companionable smile. “See you around, Marshall.”

-

They’re halfway through the season three finale when Raleigh offers to pause for a food break, pulling a contraband protein bar from his pocket and offering it to Chuck.

“I’d starve without you, Becket,” Chuck says, peeling away the wrapper with clumsy, calloused fingers and taking a generous bite. “Docs here think you can live off of bloody jello and mashed potatoes, the bastards.”

“Your nurse is gonna kill me when she finds out I’ve been sneaking you food.”

Chuck smiles at him through a mouthful of protein bar. “All part of the plan, mate.”

Raleigh just smiles back, taking a bite of his own bar and chewing slowly. “Think I gave you the good flavor,” he says disappointedly, checking the wrapper in a halfhearted gesture.

“Too late now,” Chuck says, and – since when was he almost done eating? “You touch this an’ you’ll get radiation sickness n’ die. Then who’s going to bring me edible food?”

Raleigh finishes chewing before he responds. “Doctors must’ve done a good job of explaining radiation poisoning to you.”

Chuck just rolls his eyes, finishing off the last of his bar. “You just want my slobber, arsehole. That counts as a secondhand kiss, yeah?”

“It would if you didn’t wolf it down,” Raleigh fires back, lips curling into a wry smile at Chuck’s words. The banter is familiar enough by now, but sometimes it edges close enough to flirting to catch him by surprise. They don’t really acknowledge it, not out loud, and there’s been nothing in the way of courtship since the brief instance where they held hands – which, Raleigh reasons, could’ve easily been some sort of comfort thing. A little homoerotic, sure, but what does he know about Australians?

He finds that it comes easier when he doesn’t think about it, doesn’t spend time analyzing the meaning behind Chuck’s words. Because Chuck is fiery, just as impulsive as he is, and it’s rare that he finds himself speaking with some sort of ulterior meaning on the tip of his tongue. The bluntness, he can appreciate. It makes his life simpler.

Chuck shrugs easily at Raleigh’s retort, and it’s good to see the way his muscles seem to have healed back into something whole. “I’ll be out soon enough, and no damn nurse is going to stop me from eating whatever I bloody well want.”

His words make Raleigh remember his conversation with Herc, and he finds himself swimming in thought. “Yeah,” he says noncommittally, and Chuck once-overs him with a reproachful glance.

“You look like you’re thinking about something. ‘S pretty rare for you, right? Must be interesting.”

It’s just like Chuck to twist his words to seem as if he doesn’t care. Raleigh wonders when he got so good at figuring out the things Chuck can’t quite make himself say.

“What’s the plan, when you get out of here?” he asks, briefly searching Chuck’s expression.

Chuck meets his gaze for just a moment before his eyes slip to the frozen television screen. “Dunno,” he says after a pause. “Dad says they’re keeping the Corps for now, but what use would they have for me?” He glances down at his bandages, frowning disdainfully.

“You could run the PR circuit,” Raleigh says. “The interviews, conferences, all the shit the Marshall hates doing.”

“Mate,” Chuck says flatly, “what makes you think I’m any more likeable than my old man?”

Raleigh presses his lips together silently. He doesn’t have a response for that.

“I’d go home, but I don’t reckon it’s much the same,” Chuck continues.

Raleigh nods. “I know the feeling.”

Chuck just shrugs again, and Raleigh can tell he doesn’t like thinking about the idea. “Could always try to weasel my way into administration.”

“Sounds promising.”

“Yeah, ‘cept I’m about as level-headed as a Tasmanian devil.”

Raleigh can’t contest that, though his knowledge of Tasmanian devils is vague at best. “At least you know your boundaries.”

“Mm,” Chuck grunts. “Guess I’ll be sticking around for a while.”

It reminds Raleigh of what he said to the Marshal, and the words feel like a breath of air he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah,” he says, barring the relief from his voice. “Me too.”

Chuck inclines his chin towards Raleigh in brief acknowledgement. “Guess we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.”

“Guess so.” Raleigh finishes off the rest of his protein bar, smiling to himself as he picks up the remote and presses play.

To Raleigh’s surprise, Chuck decides he’s had enough for the day by the time the episode finishes.

Raleigh places the disc carefully in its sleeve, stowing it in Chuck’s bedside cabinet like always. Chuck is looking at him when he straightens back up, watching him with an incalculable gaze that makes Raleigh’s spine tingle. He meets the ginger’s stare briefly, just long enough for his eyes to narrow defensively before he looks away.

“Later, Becket,” he says, sounding indifferent.

“Later,” Raleigh agrees, but he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he places a hand gingerly on the pillow beside Chuck’s bed, using it as leverage as he leans in.

Chuck shifts to look at him automatically, and Raleigh moves without thinking. He presses his lips to Chuck’s, warm and pliant, free hand coming to rest briefly against the ridged scars of his jaw.

Then there’s the soft pressure of response, fingers curling on the back of his neck before he pulls away.

He surveys Chuck for a beat, eyes flickering hungrily from the gentle surprise in his eyes to the deep flush of his full lips. He smiles, broad and earnest, before patting the pillow gently and pushing back on the balls of his heels. “Later,” he repeats, turning away and walking out before Chuck can chastise him.

-

Raleigh can’t decide what sounds like a better idea: making a beeline for the med bay, or forgoing a potentially awkward interaction altogether. He’s never been fond of facing the repercussions of his actions ( _is anyone?_ ), but…well. Chuck kissed _back_ , and he thinks it would’ve been almost worth it just to stay long enough to get another look at those pretty lips.

He knows it’s stupid and impulsive to pursue something, but it just feels so _much_ like what the old Raleigh would do that he can’t find it in himself to stamp down the desire. He tells himself it doesn’t matter what he feels, that Chuck’s not the dating type, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing an extra couple of protein bars from the mess hall.

After Yancy died, there wasn’t much use in trying to date. He spent enough time picking up the pieces in his own head to bother letting someone else in. But Chuck seems to have invaded a place in him that he thought he barred off long ago, shedding his fiery warmth and lighting up the lonely days. Raleigh tries not to dwell on what that might mean. There’s _something_ there, some sort of emotional presence that’s every bit as terrifying as facing down a kaiju, but he figures he’s better off taking things a day at a time.

He lingers in the mess fall for a little longer than he knows he should, shooting the breeze with Tendo and picking at the remains of his long-since-cold oatmeal. It’s only that he’s been out of the game for so long, he tells himself when he realizes what he’s avoiding. He knows he’s got charm and looks, but those don’t seem to mean much to somebody who’s about as companionable as their dog. _Less so_ , Raleigh corrects himself. Taking care of Max isn’t as cumbersome as he thought it might be, and the slobbery old bulldog has a friendliness about him that his owner always seems to be lacking.

Raleigh sure knows how to pick ‘em.

He eventually accepts defeat and turns in his dishes, shuffling his feet as he heads to the med bay. The nurses there know him by now, and one of them nods as he signs it at the desk. “He’s awake,” the nurse says, shifting his clipboard from one arm to the other. “You can go ahead in.”

Raleigh murmurs his thanks, ducking into the familiar doorway and making a line for Chuck’s bedside.

The ginger notices him almost immediately, setting his book down on his chest and fixing Raleigh with a look of sharp determination. _Oh no_ , Raleigh thinks, _here we go_.

But instead of chastising him, Chuck just fists his hands in Raleigh’s sweater and _pulls_ until their mouths collide. Chuck kisses the way he fights, all raw unbridled passion and fierce physicality. What Raleigh had initiated – it wasn’t _this_ sort of kissing, where their lips slot together hard and slide into a rhythm. He feels the swipe of a tongue against his before Chuck pulls away, breathing warm on his jaw.

His hand slipped into Chuck’s hair reflexively, and he takes a moment to appreciate the soft brush of red-brown strands before he pulls back slightly.

“ _That_ was for last time, you bloody tease,” Chuck breathes, and Raleigh feels a rush of warmth at the husk in his voice.

Raleigh just whistles low, scraping his fingers appreciatively along the underside of Chuck’s jaw and shifting to give him some space. “If I’d known I was going to get a ‘hello’ like that, I would’ve come sooner.”

“Thought you might not show up, pulling a stint like yesterday n’ all.”

Raleigh just smiles, halfheartedly apologetic. “I considered it,” he said. “But I don’t think your docs would appreciate it if you went out looking for me.”

Chuck smirks, and Raleigh thinks that his dimples are even more breathtaking up-close. The bastard’s handsome, all shaggy, copper-spun hair and a freckled jawline. “I don’t make a habit of kissing has-beens, _Raw-leigh_ ,” he says, drawing out the last syllable of Raleigh’s name long enough to make him want to kiss it off the Australian’s tongue. “But I figure I’ll make an exception this time.”

Raleigh nudges the bedside chair closer with his foot, sitting down and resting his elbows on the edge of the bed. “That so,” he says, and his tone is challenging.

Chuck inclines his jaw, all smug satisfaction. “Don’t reckon you’ll make me regret it?” he asks, as Raleigh drums calloused fingertips lightly against the top of his hand.

“I don’t have much of a track record to go by,” Raleigh says, realizing that he’d spit out a pretty loaded response. Brilliant, even his flirting skills are rusty.

Chuck just snorts, though, undeterred by Raleigh’s confession. “I joined the PPDC at 16, mate. What makes you think I had time for anything other than Jaeger flies?”

Raleigh was only two years older than Chuck had been when he started jockeying, but he knows better than most how just a couple of years can make a world of difference. It’s easy to forget just how _young_ Chuck is, how much of his life has been lived in the shadow of the kaiju threat. Everything about Chuck, Raleigh thinks—from his temper to his stubbornness—makes a little more sense in that perspective. What kind of desperate world asked _kids_ to shoulder the weight of its wars? There’s a bitter taste in Raleigh’s mouth, suddenly. People like him, like Chuck, they’re byproducts of a frenzied civilization, and some days it’s hard not to feel like the Corps just chewed them up and spit them out.

“Jaeger flies,” he says, swallowing the sour thoughts. “Those were the golden days, man.”

“Yeah,” Chuck says, sounding incredulous. “M’ sure you had your fair share. You Beckets were the goddamn golden boys.”

Raleigh knows that old Chuck wouldn’t have stopped there. Old Chuck would’ve said something like _before you two had to go and blunder it_. Old Chuck would’ve used Yancy’s name like a curse, hurling it at Raleigh just to see him break under the weight of so many memories. He knows now to read Chuck by the things he _doesn’t_ say, and it strikes him that there’s some sort of respect slowly seeping between them.

“Yance was always better at it. With the girls, at least,” Raleigh concedes, wondering if Chuck knows that opening up about his past is his own way of showing respect.

“You two were real bloody heroes, joining the PPDC for pussy and glory.”

Raleigh just shrugs. He can’t contest that – they were young and stupid and cocky, and glory was the name of the game.

“What happened, _Raw-leigh_? Lost your golden touch?” Chuck teases, provoking.

Raleigh chews his lip briefly, smile spreading across his face as he meets Chuck’s eyes. “Hardly,” he says, shrugging and fingers skimming the edge of Chuck’s hand. “Time just…changes people.”

Chuck smiles for just an instant, a flash of those irresistible dimples, before he fixes Raleigh with a feigned scowl. “Don’t you get sappy, now. I don’t care what the nurses say, Becket, I’ll knock you down a notch.”

Raleigh lets his grin grow cocky, leaning close to Chuck’s mouth. “Try me,” he murmurs, deliberately meeting the Australian’s gaze.

Chuck’s smirk grows to match his, and he parts his lips just enough to tantalize Raleigh. “Don’t make me, old man.”

There’s a flicker of tension between them, electric and insatiable, before Raleigh pulls back. “Yeah, your dad would have me skinned if I laid a hand on you.”

Chuck grimaces, green eyes flashing displeasure. “You really know how to kill the mood, mate.”

Raleigh shrugs again, chin jutting out definitely. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Chuck lets his fingers curl around Raleigh’s bicep, stronger than they were before. “My dad doesn’t exactly control what I do.”

_Or_ who _you do_ , Raleigh thinks. Yeah – they’re definitely not talking about fighting anymore.

“Yeah, well how about we wait until you get out of here?” he suggests. “I don’t exactly feel like pissing off the nursing staff again.”

Chuck searches his gaze for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration, before he pulls his hand back. “Maybe I’m just aimin’ to get you in trouble.”

Raleigh has to laugh at that. “Chuck,” he says sincerely, “you _are_ trouble.”

 

They banter like that for hours, Blu-Ray forgotten on the side table. A nurse comes in to notify Chuck of his definitive release date—four days—and they celebrate with boyish grins and a handful of contraband protein bars.

It’s as easy as breathing, trading insults and remarks and memories. Even the silence is comfortable, the tired pauses where Raleigh yawns and stretches and confesses that he didn’t get all that much sleep. They’re always touching in some way, fingers curled together or shoulders bumping, and that feels natural, too.

He only takes his leave when Herc knocks, insisting (to Chuck’s dismay) that he doesn’t want to get in the way of a little father-son bonding.

The glare he gets is picturesque, almost worth the cold shoulder he receives from Chuck when he comes to visit the following day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next two chapters are why this fic has an 'explicit' rating, wink wink. look forward to it.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he turns around, Chuck has dropped his duffel and eased the door closed, sitting perched on the corner of Raleigh’s bed.
> 
> “I got it,” Raleigh says, waving the case briefly. “We can head out now.”
> 
> Chuck just smiles at him, all dimples. “Thought maybe I’d stay the night here, mate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _There's a black crow sitting across from me,_   
> _his wiry legs are crossed_   
> _And he's dangling my keys, he even fakes a toss_   
> _Whatever could it be_   
> _That has brought me to this loss?_
> 
> -re: Stacks, Bon Iver

Four days feels like nothing compared to the month Chuck has spent cooped up in the hospital wing, and Raleigh’s sure he must be antsy to sign those release papers. When the day comes, the med bay is relatively unceremonious about the whole affair, setting Chuck free with a pair of crutches and a duffel bag of his belongings.

Herc is sitting in the waiting room with Max, who’s thumping his tail in eager anticipation, when Chuck finally shuffles out of the office. Raleigh watches, amused, from his seat nearby as Chuck brusquely dumps his crutches aside and kneels to give his dog a big, slobbery hug.

“Bet you missed me, didn’t you, you old bastard,” he says, and Max pants enthusiastically and wiggles against his leash. This earns a laugh from Chuck, who scratches him affectionately behind the ears before he stands to greet his father.

“You’ll piss off your physical therapist, walking without those crutches,” Herc says, but he’s smiling.

Chuck’s expression mellows out into something more neutral. “Bet you need ‘em more than I do, old man,” he fires back without malice.

Herc just huffs amusedly at that, clasping Chuck gently on the shoulder and meeting his eyes. “Good to have you back, son.”

Chuck nods in acknowledgement, dipping down again to give Max another thorough petting before he turns to Raleigh.

“Oi, you bring me any protein bars? I’m starving for real food.”  
Raleigh stands, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You’re a free man now, Hansen,” he says, meeting Chuck halfway. “I’m not your errand boy anymore.”

Chuck snorts, picking up his duffel again. “Yeah mate, we’ll see about that.” He turns back briefly to Max and Herc, nodding again. “Later.”

Herc looks at Raleigh briefly, thumbing at Max’s leash in his hand before he nods. “Don’t do anything stupid, boy,” he says, but there’s a levity to his words that makes Raleigh smile appreciatively.

He assumes they’ll just keep on doing what they’ve always done, blowing through the last couple seasons of Sons of Anarchy before they move onto some other show. “I have to grab the disc for next season,” he says, holding the door open for Chuck (who, naturally, scowls at the gesture). “Left it in my room. You mind?”

“I don’t give a fuck where we go,” Chuck says, gesturing back to the med bay. “S’long as it’s not back there.”

“Speaking of which, aren’t you forgetting something?” Raleigh asks, knowing full well that Chuck left his crutches intentionally.

Chuck rolls his eyes, hefting his pack onto his shoulder in a way Raleigh _knows_ can’t be comfortable for all those tender scars. “Don’t you start in on me too.”

Raleigh just shrugs, dropping the subject. Chuck’s nothing if not difficult, and he’d be an idiot to fight it.

 

The walk back to Raleigh’s quarters is short, and this time he doesn’t bother trying to hold the door open for Chuck. He heads straight to the beat up old chest at the foot of his bed, kneeling down and fishing out the disc he’d left behind.

When he turns around, Chuck has dropped his duffel and eased the door closed, sitting perched on the corner of Raleigh’s bed.

“I got it,” Raleigh says, waving the case briefly. “We can head out now.”

Chuck just smiles at him, all dimples. “Thought maybe I’d stay the night here, mate.”

Raleigh has to commend him for the way he says it—all smooth, voice like whiskey over ice. Would, if he could speak through the rush of warmth in his chest. He smiles back instead, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he steps closer. “Yeah?” he asks, a challenge in his voice.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Chuck breathes back, running a hand up Raleigh’s chest as he stands. “You gonna kick me out, old man?”  
Raleigh hooks his fingers through Chuck’s belt-loops, guiding him close until their chests are brushing. “Not what I had in mind,” he says simply.

Chuck just grins, wicked, and curls his fingers through Raleigh’s hair to pull him into a hard kiss. Raleigh’s hands flatten against Chuck’s hips, thumb dipping beneath his shirt to massage his taut skin in slow circles.

Chuck wastes no time, angling Raleigh’s head with impatient fingers and pushing his tongue insistently against the seam of the blonde’s lips. Raleigh exhales and Chuck laps into his mouth, eager and warm and pliant against him. They kiss like that for a long moment, Raleigh with his fingers skimming the elegant V of Chuck’s hipbone, before they part.

“Didn’t the docs tell you to ‘take it easy’?” Raleigh asks, bemused, breath mingling with Chuck’s as he rests their foreheads together.

Chuck just catches Raleigh’s lower lip between his teeth, sucking hard enough to be just shy of painful. “That a complaint?” he counters, his green eyes smoldering and his pupils blown wide.

“No,” Raleigh breathes, drinking in the flush of Chuck’s lips so close to his. The redhead certainly wastes no time in getting to the point. “Not even close.”

Chuck pulls gently at Raleigh’s hair, grounding him, before leaning in close enough for another kiss. “S’what I thought, _Raw-leigh_ ,” he says, lips brushing the blonde’s as he speaks. “Don’t you dare go easy on me just because I’ve got a few more scars, yeah?”

Raleigh all but _groans_ , ensnared in the warm weight of Chuck’s body against his. He wants him, all of him, naked and beautiful and _writhing_ beneath him, and—well. If Chuck wants it rough, then he’s just going to have to break him.

“I’ll be sure not to dial down my moves.”

His grip on Chuck’s hips tightens, one hand shifting up to scrape along the back of his neck and pull him in for a hard, bruising kiss. He doesn’t let Chuck take control, arching his neck for a better angle the second the Australian tries to claim his mouth. He glimpses at the wall, briefly, steers them backwards until he can feel Chuck’s back make purchase, and _presses_ ‘til every inch of them is a single lit fuse.

Chuck _whines_ in the back of his throat, fingers twisting in Raleigh’s hair and lips sliding furiously against his. Raleigh can’t help but pull back, pinning Chuck down with a hand on his jaw, to drink in the sight. Chuck licks his lips as he pulls away, smiling like sin. _This is just what the bastard wanted_ , Raleigh thinks, a flicker of laughter bubbling in his throat.

“Now _that’s_ what I call a homecoming,” Chuck says, and his accent is thick and muddled with lust.

Raleigh eases Chuck’s chin up with a firm grip, planting a light string of kisses along the curve of his neck. “We’re just getting started, here,” he says, breath hot against the Australian’s tender skin. He finds the puckered rise of a scar with his lips, licking a wet stripe up to the freckled expanse of Chuck’s jaw and nipping at the healthy skin there.

Chuck’s hands drift down to claw at Raleigh’s shoulders, kneading taut muscle through his shirt. “You’d better fuck as good as you talk,” he says a bit darkly, and Raleigh can feel the shift of a grin against his mouth.   
Raleigh releases Chuck’s jaw, hand splaying out against the wall behind him. He shifts, just so, guiding Chuck’s hips with a steady grip until their bodies meet in delicious friction. They both moan low, Chuck bucking up to meet him through harsh layers of cloth. He seems to decide, then, that Raleigh’s wearing too much clothing altogether, fingers brushing down the front of his shirt before pulling insistently at the button of his jeans.

Raleigh laughs at his determination, taking the opportunity to press a kiss to the redhead’s temple as he works his zipper down in one swift motion. He shrugs his pants off, kicking them aside and guiding Chuck’s hands to his own zipper. “Wanna feel you,” he says, letting the Australian unfasten his pants before he slips his hand in to palm generously at Chuck’s half-hard cock through his briefs.

Chuck groans, head falling against Raleigh’s shoulder and fingers digging into his bicep. Raleigh traces the outline of his balls, brushing his way back to the tip and digging his thumb against the material gently. Suddenly Chuck’s fingers are in his hair again, pressing hard into his scalp as teeth work at his earlobe. “You have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” he hisses, wild. “Don’t you make me wait any longer, Becket.”

Raleigh pauses a beat, fingers heavy on Chuck’s hardening cock, before he reaches for the hands in his hair and pins them hard against the wall. His fingers twist over Chuck’s wrist, thumbing the veins leading down to his muscled (and pleasantly well-healed) arms. “That any way to talk to your senior?” he asks, a cocky smile dancing across his lips.

Chuck strains half-heartedly against him, meeting Raleigh’s gaze and licking his lips deliberately. “You want me to call you sir? You get off on that, yeah?” he shoots back, eyes alight.

Raleigh’s fingers tighten around his wrists, and he leans in to scrape sharp teeth against the juncture of Chuck’s neck. “Just Raleigh,” he says, lips finding the shell of Chuck’s ear. “You better remember that, _kid_ , because you’ll be screaming it soon.”

Chuck ruts up against him, sliding his thigh between Raleigh’s and grinding mercilessly, and _god_ they’re both already halfway there with nothing but a few touches and some delicious friction. “You use that one-liner on everyone, prettyboy?” Chuck retorts, breathless and husky.

Raleigh just grins against his skin, letting Chuck’s wrists free so he can wind them tight around the blonde’s pliant shoulders. He drops his own hand to tangle in the ginger’s short hair, pulling gently to remind him who’s in control. “Only the ones I really want to fuck senseless,” he says, and really _means_ it. It’s been a long time since he’s even been with somebody like this, and – fuck, he can’t remember the last time the chemistry was this good. Everything about them is an electric wire pulled taut, exposed and raw and white-hot with the anticipation of pleasure, and he fully intends to milk this opportunity for all it’s worth.

He kisses Chuck again, slow and heady this time, sliding patient against him and exploring the way their bodies curve together. Chuck lifts into his embrace, deepening the kiss and slipping his thigh between Raleigh’s legs to tease at his erection. Raleigh sighs into Chuck’s mouth, hand dropping to the small of his back and kneading roughly, just to feel the way his muscles move. Chuck arches against his hand, shivering, and Raleigh licks into his mouth with a smile as he lets his hand slip lower. He traces his fingers over Chuck’s ass with equal parts arousal and appreciation, cupping the firm flesh and squeezing experimentally. It earns hitch of breath, warm against his lips, and he can feel Chuck’s fingers digging impatiently into the swell of his shoulders.

He wonders if he’s mistaking Chuck’s responsiveness for complacency as he works a hand between them, palming at the Australian’s hard cock. He expected a fight, and – well, to be fair, he probably jinxed it. Chuck breaks him out of his reverie, fingers slipping down to his chest and flattening against the thick fabric of his sweater before he _pushes_.

Raleigh stumbles backwards and Chuck is on him instantly, kissing and biting and licking and pulling his shirt over his shoulders in a flurry of motion, backing him up fast against the bed. They’re only apart a moment for Raleigh to adjust before Chuck’s lips meet his again, working his mouth open in rough strokes that make him groan. He eases back onto the bed and Chuck follows, hands sliding up Raleigh’s smooth chest to tease mercilessly at one of his nipples.

Raleigh settles down against the pillows, pulling Chuck’s shirt over his head and scraping his fingers down the broad, muscled expanse of his back as the Australian moves to lap hungrily at his collarbone. He’s careful to avoid the scars, tender skin warm under his fingertips and just as startlingly handsome as the rest of Chuck’s toned physique. Chuck doesn’t let up, licking up along the curve of his neck and pausing just below his jaw to suck a hard, bruising mark into the sensitive skin there. Raleigh moans loud at that, cock straining against his boxers, and god he can feel the arousal pooling heavily in the pit of his stomach. Unrelenting, Chuck continues to work his mouth down Raleigh’s chest in a warm, wet trail, teasing at one of his nipples with a flick of his tongue. Raleigh twines his fingers into Chuck’s hair and pushes, guiding his lips down the stretch of that muscled abdomen to where he _really_ wants him. Chuck resists, though, lingering to suck at Raleigh’s hipbones.

“What was that about making me scream, Becket?” he asks, satisfaction coloring his voice.

Raleigh’s fingers tighten—almost painfully, he thinks, by the shaky way Chuck inhales—in his hair, guiding him down with fervor. “Think right now I’d rather shut you up with a cock down your throat,” he says, and there’s an authority that he’s not used to hearing in his own voice.

It makes Chuck shiver, though, and he sucks a quick mark into Raleigh’s hip before he reaches for the waistband of his boxers and pulls. Raleigh’s cock comes free, shifting against his stomach, and Chuck doesn’t hesitate before running his tongue flat along the underside. Raleigh _knows_ he’s nothing to balk at, but the way Chuck takes him in, so fucking eager and lusting and _hungry_ , makes him groan out loud.

When Chuck pulls back, Raleigh reaches down to cup his shaft, tapping it against the Australian’s mouth a few times before guiding the head between those wet, pink lips. Chuck’s fingers stroke along the underside of him, and he relinquishes his grip in favor of fisting his hands in that burnished copper hair. “Yeah, that’s good,” he breathes, hips lifting as Chuck sucks diligently on his head. “Fuck.” Chuck’s tongue swirls in response, teasing his slit before moving down to trace his shaft. He lavishes his length eagerly, lips stretching tight as he takes him in, and Raleigh’s head tips back with unbridled pleasure.

Chuck’s fingers close around the base of his cock, working him while he starts to bob his head in slow rhythm. He eases into it quickly, sucking with an enthusiasm that has Raleigh moaning and carding rough fingers through his hair.

Raleigh only looks up when he feels the bed dip, and he can see Chuck kneeling, working himself over his briefs with his lips spread flush around the blonde’s thick cock. The sight has him bucking into Chuck’s mouth, seeking the irresistible heat of the Australian’s tongue against his length. “God, you look good like that,” he murmurs, brushing the hair out of Chuck’s face to get a better view of him.

Chuck meets his eyes, sinking down deliberately and _god_ that has him squeezing his eyes shut again, feeling every nerve singe with desire. He knows he’s not going to last like this, not with the way Chuck’s working him and hollowing out his cheeks with every shallow thrust of Raleigh’s hips. He lets himself relish it just a moment longer before he sinks back down, easing Chuck up gently by his hair and licking his lips slowly.

“C’mere and show me how I taste,” he says, and Chuck doesn’t have to be told twice. The Aussie shifts between his legs for leverage and then he’s on him fast, mouths molding together and tongue darting between Raleigh’s parted lips. He can taste himself on Chuck and it’s impossibly arousing, all the sex and sweat and heady warmth mingling between them. He keeps his fingers in Chuck’s hair, digging at the base of his neck and framing his jaw roughly, before Chuck pries one of his hands free and guides it down to his own needy length.

Raleigh kisses him hard for just another brief, suspended moment before he pulls away, studying Chuck’s gaze while he reaches down to stroke him. He pulls Chuck’s briefs down below his thighs for better coverage before returning attention to his aching length, pumping him with a loose fist. Chuck closes his eyes, nostrils flaring, breathing out a shaky exhale as he rocks into Raleigh’s palm. “ _Ooh_ , yeah,” he says, his voice a punctuated moan, “that’s ace.”

Raleigh rubs his fingers along the fold of the foreskin before pulling it down, thumbing Chuck’s tip in firm, even strokes. Chuck’s head falls to his shoulder and Raleigh can feel his lips part against him, panting soft. He works his way down, giving the shaft a good, hard squeeze before pulling gently at his balls and cupping them with light fingers. Chuck bucks against him slow and hard, encouraging him to quicken the tempo with a few impatient thrusts. Raleigh doesn’t comply, working him evenly and returning Chuck’s attention to his lips with an earnest, bruising kiss. The way Chuck slides against him is just too _good_ , skin-on-skin, legs tangled and shuddering with want, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t prolong this enough to turn them both into writhing, fucked-out messes.

Chuck has other intentions, though, and he straddles Raleigh in a single swift move and bats his hand away with a dissatisfied grunt. He fists their cocks together, breathing a sigh at the feeling, and rocks into it as he meets Raleigh’s eyes. The bastard looks smug, flushed and sultry with those gorgeous, swollen lips – it’s a damn travesty that his face is every inch worthy of the ego. Raleigh bucks up into him, hands grasping at Chuck’s hips as they move together.

It’s not enough, though, and _god_ does he want to be inside of him. Chuck seems to have the same idea, and he doesn’t resist when Raleigh guides him far enough forward that his cock rests in the seam of the Chuck’s ass. Chuck bends closer and rolls back onto him, Raleigh’s cock sliding up the length of him and brushing his entrance as he sinks back down.

They both moan at that, grinding into each other a few more times before Chuck has to pull back. “Lube and a rubber?” he says, settling down on his knees above Raleigh.

Raleigh inclines his head to the drawer on the left. “Both in there,” he says, “but I’m clean.”

“Brill, me too,” Chuck says, flashing him a wide smile as he shifts to rummage through the drawer. He comes back quick, a bottle of lubricant in hand. “Get to feel you cum inside of me.”

That steals Raleigh’s breath for a solid second, and Chuck just grins like he knows _exactly_ what effect he has. He leans down, lips barely brushing Raleigh’s as he trails a hand along his bicep. “You are gonna cum in me, aren’t you, big boy? Or do I have to be the one doing the fucking here?”

Raleigh looks at him for a long moment, drinking in that self-satisfied expression before he hooks Chuck under the arms and flips him over. He straddles him, victorious, reaching for the lube and coating his fingers liberally.  
“Remember that part where I said I was gonna make you scream?” he says, spreading Chuck’s legs and dragging his fingers over his entrance in teasing circles.

“Might recall,” Chuck says flippantly, though he can’t hide the breathless exertion in his voice.

Raleigh eases a single finger in to the middle joint, feeling the tight rings of muscle give around him. “Think it’s time I knocked you down a notch,” he says, punctuating his words with a twist of his finger.

Chuck gasps, lifting his hips and taking a moment to relax around the digit. Raleigh slips in to the knuckle, twisting again and hooking his finger gently inside of him before thrusting shallowly. Chuck moves into it, encouraging Raleigh with quiet pants, and before long he’s got another finger in comfortably. He scissors them to stretch Chuck, easing in and out in slow thrusts, adding a third with a tentative glance.

“M’ _fine_ ,” Chuck says, pushing down and fucking himself on Raleigh’s fingers. “My arse can handle you, Becket, believe me.”

Raleigh just grins at that, curling his fingers until he finds that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of Chuck. It sends a shudder through Chuck’s whole body, lips parting in a low gasp that makes Raleigh’s cock twitch. He thrust again once, twice, before pulling away to fist his own member back to full hardness. It doesn’t take more than a moment, and he coats his length generously before capping the lube, tossing it aside, and bracing himself on Chuck’s thighs. “Ready for me?” he asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are sex cliffhangers a thing? because HA!  
> anyway, next chapter is the last loves, look forward to it. thanks for reading xx


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the coming down, the calm exhale, where they can finally relax into the tangle of each other without inhibition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> _This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization,_   
> _It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away_   
> _Your love will be_   
> _Safe with me_
> 
> -re: Stacks, Bon Iver

_“M’_ fine _,” Chuck says, pushing down and fucking himself on Raleigh’s fingers. “My arse can handle you, Becket, believe me.”_

_Raleigh just grins at that, curling his fingers until he finds that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of Chuck. It sends a shudder through Chuck’s whole body, lips parting in a low gasp that makes Raleigh’s cock twitch. He thrust again once, twice, before pulling away to fist his own member back to full hardness. It doesn’t take more than a moment, and he coats his length generously before capping the lube, tossing it aside, and bracing himself on Chuck’s thighs. “Ready for me?” he asks._

 

Chuck sits up, hands splaying on Raleigh’s chest and pushing him down hard as he slips out from under him. He makes quick work of straddling Raleigh again, who only smiles at the unexpected change of pace.

“ _Now_ I’m ready,” he says, lining Raleigh’s cock up with his entrance and sinking down slowly onto the head.

Raleigh _groans_ , fingers seeking purchase on Chuck’s hips as he succumbs to the tight heat of him. It’s been a long time since he’s been in anyone, and, well – this isn’t just anyone. This is Chuck, egotistical and smug and impossibly attractive, kneeling on _Raleigh_ ’s bed and fucking himself on _Raleigh_ ’s cock. He’d laugh at the impossibility of it if he weren’t so wrapped up in the way Chuck feels around him, tight and pliant and willing and so _perfect_ that it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to buck up into him.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though, before Chuck moves, sinking slowly to the hilt and rolling his hips in a way that just feels criminally good. They both moan, Chuck lifting and sliding back down just enough for Raleigh to meet him in an experimental thrust. It feels like he’s splitting Chuck open, all white-hot warmth and electric nerves screaming for more, harder, _faster_.

They both submit to that visceral need, moving against each other and meeting in moments of coital bliss. The pace picks up quickly, Raleigh’s fingers gripping Chuck’s hips with bruising force and Chuck’s hands scraping needily down his chest. Raleigh waits until he’s sheathed inside of him to thrust hard, slamming Chuck’s prostate with enough force to leave him breathless. Chuck groans and bends over just so, hands fisting white knuckled in the sheets before he slides down forcefully onto Raleigh’s cock. And then he does it again and _again_ , earning a few scrambled curses and low moans from both of them. Raleigh thrusts up to meet him, rocking into that tight heat just as Chuck squeezes around him.

God, _fuck_ , it feels so good, guiding Chuck down onto him and finding purchase deep inside over and over, moving into one single writhing beautiful _thing_ until every thought in his mind is wiped blank by indescribable pleasure. There’s nothing but the push and pull of their bodies, the sweat-slick and the frantic rhythm and the heat flooding every nerve. He knows Chuck feels it too, from the noises and from the way his body moves against Raleigh’s, perfect yielding flesh, and it’s _drifting_ – it’s becoming something more with nothing but this spark growing brighter between them.

The heat starts to coil fast in his groin, and he has enough mind left to slip his hand down to fist Chuck’s cock, swollen and beading with precum. He works him in rough strokes as they continue to rock into each other, breathing faster and sharper with every thrust. His balls are drawn up tight to his cock, hard and throbbing deep inside Chuck, and he feels the pleasure mounting into singular, peaking bliss.

“Chuck, _Chuck_ ,” he rasps, “I’m gonna—”

Chuck slams down hard on him, taking Raleigh deep as he comes. His orgasm hits hard, and he seizes with it as the heat shoots through his body in overwhelming waves. Chuck fucks down on him through each one, milking the aftershocks with shallow, rolling thrusts.

He moans languidly, toes curling in post-orgasmic bliss as he continues to work Chuck’s cock. “C’mon, babe,” he says, slapping Chuck’s thigh and fisting him harder. “Want you to cum for me, too.”

Chuck all but _whimpers_ , overstimulated by the brush of Raleigh’s softening cock on his prostate, bucking into his hand in frantic, uneven bursts. “ _Raleigh_ ,” he chokes out, gasping as his orgasm claims him. He squeezes his eyes shut and parts his lips, panting as he rides it out in spurts. The cum hits Raleigh’s stomach, warm, and Chuck drags his fingers up through it as he comes down from his climax.

He lifts himself up off of Raleigh’s cock and sprawls out next to him, a languorous mess of limbs.

Raleigh takes a long, indolent pause to catch his breath, shifting his jellied limbs to tangle easily with Chuck’s. Chuck looks beautiful like this, chest heaving in a slow exhale, and he can’t resist moving in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You okay?” he asks, still a touch breathless, and the realization suddenly dawns on him that the exertion could’ve been too much on the Australian’s still-healing body.

Chuck opens his eyes just a crack, smoldering green peeking out from beneath his copper eyelashes. “M’fuckin’ _brilliant_ ,” he says, lips curling into a breathtaking smile. “Told you I could take you, _old man_.”

Raleigh’s expression softens, and he traces his fingers down the swell of Chuck’s bicep. “Think it was more along the lines of me taking you,” he says, but his voice is too languid to be challenging.

Chuck just grunts in agreement, shifting into the warm press of Raleigh’s body against his. This is the coming down, the calm exhale, where they can finally relax into the tangle of each other without inhibition. Raleigh traces his hand back up tentatively, pushing Chuck’s sweat-slick hair off his forehead and marveling at the soft spray of freckles on his temple.

Chuck doesn’t protest the touch, eyes slipping closed again as he parts his lips to speak. “Might need those crutches after all,” he says, the words spreading his mouth into a wicked, beautiful smile.

Raleigh huffs out a breath of laughter. “This the part where I say, ‘I told you so’?” he asks.

“I can still beat your arse,” Chuck reminds him tersely, a string of reluctant amusement knotted through his words. He nudges Raleigh’s shoulder with his head and Raleigh shifts to accommodate him, copper strands brushing his skin as Chuck settles on his chest.

He sighs, relaxing into the bed and absently dragging the sheets over the mess on his stomach. He’ll clean it up later, he thinks, letting the sensation linger for now. And Chuck – Chuck is _perfect_ , in this moment, a solid presence filling him with warmth, and he can’t help but grin to himself about the vast, serendipitous impossibility of it all.

“What’re you so wrapped about?” Chuck asks, and Raleigh can tell he’s trying not to sound genuinely curious.

Raleigh takes a minute to digest the question, plucking words lazily from the silence between them. “You ever think about how crazy this is?” he says, eyes fluttering open as he turns to look at Chuck. “If somebody had told me a few weeks ago that this is what I’d be doing right now, I don’t know if I would’ve laughed at them or punched them.”

Chuck smirks, all dimples. “I dunno, you were the only one that really seemed keen on keeping me company. Figured it was my dashing looks.”

Raleigh chuckles, thumbing through Chuck’s hair. “I was pretty sure you _hated_ me.”

“I did,” Chuck says, and there’s a weight to his voice that softens Raleigh’s grin.

Raleigh searches his expression briefly, debating for a stretch before he finally poses the question. “So what happened?”

Chuck’s jaw clenches, and he can tell from the way the Australian’s gaze flickers past him that he’s gathering his thoughts. “When I first heard about you, I thought you were a bloody superstar,” he says finally, weighing his words. “S’all everyone at the Academy ever talked about, being just like the Beckets. Me, I _knew_ I could do it, and I graduated just about as fast as they’d let me.” He pauses, exhaling. “Jockeyed for a year before Knifehead.”

The word sends a sharp jolt down Raleigh’s spine, his fingers flexing imperceptibly in Chuck’s hair. He swallows and nods, intent. “One good year before it all went to shit,” Chuck continues, inclining his chin so Raleigh can see the fierce clarity in his green eyes. “You reminded us we weren’t invincible, y’know, and I right hated you for it.”

“You thought I was a coward,” Raleigh interjects, recalling the spiteful way Chuck had regarded him when they first met.

“Thought you were worse than a coward. You an’ half the PPDC, crumbling to ashes while the rest of us picked up slack. It got bad.” Chuck closes his eyes, brow furrowing. “Needed somebody to blame, I guess.”

Raleigh purses his lips and nods curtly, feeling that familiar guilty weight settle like a stone in his chest.

“What I’m trying to say here, Raleigh, is that I—I didn’t _get_ it. I always blamed you, but you want to know the fucking truth?” He laughs, hollow and mirthless. “I’m bloody glad the kaiju are gone, because I don’t think I could ever step foot into a Jaeger again.”

The words hit hard, knocking the weight from Raleigh’s chest with breathless impact. He’d always taken Chuck’s struggle for that dull war ache, some _need_ for purpose that came with relinquishing his Jaeger.

Chuck wets his dry lips, eyes fixed on Raleigh’s chest. “Sitting in that hospital room, I could still feel the way the radiation burned. I could still see the Marshall behind my eyes.” He splayed his fingers absently over Raleigh’s smooth skin. “An’ you, with your stupid biker soaps and your damn protein bars, I guess you were just about the only one who could prove that there was something left.”

Raleigh is silent, speechless, thumb skimming Chuck’s temple as he drinks in his solemn words. Chuck recoils slightly, exposed and uncertain, before Raleigh shifts to cup his jaw and press a slow, wanting kiss to his mouth. He knows that there’s been some gradual shift towards this, towards _them_ , and he thinks maybe he’s known it for a while now. That gravity, that chemistry—it’s been a steady pull from the start, a magnetism that sparks in the chasm between them. Whatever kept him coming back, it had been nameless until now; and even still, he knows he didn’t intentionally set out to save Chuck.

But then again, he never expected Chuck to save him, either.

It’s not love, not yet, but there’s something intimate and comforting about the action of letting someone in like this. He can curl around the new presence in his mind without fear or reserve, without the weight of war pressing into the empty space between them.

“When you asked me how I kept going, the first time I visited you,” he says finally, lips brushing Chuck’s as he speaks, “I didn’t know what the hell to say. I couldn’t have told you what kept me going, just that… well.” He pauses, and every inch of him hums with the weight of his words. “Life goes on.”

“Life goes on,” Chuck murmurs in agreement, pressing up into the kiss.

Some things, Raleigh thinks, don’t need saying. Some things are better just _being_ – like the way the world seems to coalesce into a few bright, scintillating moments, even after you think the sun has long set.

Some things are a slow drawl of seconds, an eternity crystallized into a snapshot of lips on lips and skin on skin.

This time, it is a snapshot of them: Raleigh with Chuck warm and pliant beneath him, each infant exhale another step into the tenuous future of a life worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there it is, babes! i hope you enjoyed it, because i had fun writing it! leave something to let me know how you thought it ended :) thanks so much for reading all of this, i <3 you.


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